


With Any Kind of Sense

by Synekdokee



Category: Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Gun play, Light Bondage, M/M, a sprinkle of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-13
Updated: 2013-10-13
Packaged: 2017-12-29 06:37:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1002148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synekdokee/pseuds/Synekdokee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Remember how hard you got, watching me shoot down a target after target?"</p><p>Michael acts out on past lost moments, and Trevor likes to complicate everything.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With Any Kind of Sense

**Author's Note:**

> For thechatterpie on Tumblr, who wanted something where Michael torments a tied-up Trevor with a gun.

It wasn't the first time Trevor had woken up cuffed to a bed naked. It wasn't even a scenario he minded terribly. What he wasn't that keen on was a man he still wasn't entirely sure was a friend or foe standing above him, holding a hand gun.

 

"Are you about to finish what you started in Yankton," Trevor asked, peering at Michael. "At least let me have my dignity. Get me my boots or something."

Michael rolled his eyes. "I'm not going to shoot you, you dumbass," he said, annoyed. "Nor am I giving you boots to kick me in the nuts with."

Trevor fixed a look on him. "What balls?"

"Ha ha," said Michael dryly, and climbed on the bed to straddle Trevor. "Hey," he said quietly, like he was about to let Trevor in on some conspiracy. "Remember that time before our first job together when we went to the woods to practice some target shooting?"

"What is this, senile remembrance hour? I remember, you were so fucking full of yourself back then. Glad to see your ego's deflated since."                   

Michael snorted, leaning back on his hands braced on the mattress on either side of Trevor's legs. "You don't have much business casting stones in the inflated ego department."

"At least I have something to back it up," Trevor snapped, thrusting his hips up in demonstration. His dick was half-hard, partly because of the simple sensation of Michael's thighs and ass pressing against his thighs, partly because of his body's Pavlovian response to naked situations.

Michael ignored him, setting the gun down on Trevor's stomach, the cold metal making Trevor jerk reflexively.

"Remember how you challenged me to shoot the hardest targets," Michael asked, his voice low.

"Yeah. I thought you could do with being knocked down a few pegs. What about it?"

"I hit every one of them." Michael's hand was resting at the waistband of his jeans, fingers toying with the top button.

"Dumb luck," Trevor retorted airily. He tugged his hands against the restraints. "I'm getting bored, uncuff me and I'll show you how much better my douchebag aim has go-"

"Remember how hard you got, watching me shoot down a target after target?"

Trevor stopped moving. He wasn't sure where this was going, but he had a feeling he was going to like it.

"I remember every stiffy I've ever had. Especially if I get them from back-stabbing snakes who fuck off to bang plastic-tittied whores after a decade of deep male-to-male bonding."

Michael smirked, tilting his head to look Trevor down his nose. It made him look infuriatingly arrogant, and Trevor considered yanking his knee up and trying to aim for Michael's crotch.

Before he could act though, Michael picked up the gun, his other hand curling loosely around Trevor's cock.

"I went home that evening," Michael said, voice rough. "And I jerked myself off like a fucking teenager, thinking of that ridiculous tent you were pitching in the middle of the woods and acting like you were so proud of it." He stroked Trevor lazily, just enough friction to get his blood pumping, not enough to get him off.

"Nothing to be ashamed of," Trevor grunted through gritted teeth. His hips jerked, trying to fuck up into Michael's fist.

"Yeah, you got that bit right," Michael said, and lined the gun up with Trevor's stiffening cock. The metal of the barrel was warm from resting on Trevor's skin, the hard steel arousing as it pressed against his erection. Michael almost looked like he was sizing him up.

Then he moved the gun down, down along Trevor's shaft until the muzzle nudged against his balls. Trevor felt a cold sweat break out despite himself.

"The safety better be on that fucking thing, I swear to fucking god you shit, you endanger my jewels I'll cut yours off and use them as a sad replacement."

Michael paused, giving Trevor an unreadable look that made the hair at the back of his neck stand on end. Then he grinned. "It's not loaded you idiot," he laughed. Trevor was startled by how familiar the sound was, how stupidly young Michael sounded when laughing. It made Trevor's teeth hurt.

"Wouldn’t want any accidents to happen, would we," Michael asked, pressing the gun against the base of Trevor's dick, his hand cupping the cockhead and rubbing his palm over it. Trevor let his head fall back into the pillows with a low groan.

“You’re a real asshole, Michael Whatever-Your-Name-Is,” Trevor gritted out. He wanted to come, but trust Michael to be the type to draw things out. No wonder he was so fucking tightly wound if this is how he banged his wife, Trevor should teach him a thing or two about instant gratification.

Michael let go of Trevor and got off him. Trevor opened his mouth to protest (You don’t just leave a guy hanging like that), but Michael was already pushing his legs apart, trailing the gun up along Trevor’s inner thigh, up , up, all the way to the crease of his buttock.

Michael lifted his head to look Trevor in the eye, and for a rare moment Trevor hesitated. It had been a while since he’d done this with someone who wasn’t either paid to do it, or scared of him. Michael met his gaze steadily, the gun held still against Trevor’s upper thigh, waiting. In charge.

 _Fuck no_ , Trevor thought.

“Take your dick out,” Trevor said, as steadily as though he was talking about the weather.

Michael jerked his head in surprise, narrowing his eyes.

“What, too shy get on equal ground, porkchop?” Trevor sneered.

“No,” Michael snapped. “I just didn’t expect you to get so proactive suddenly.” He left the gun lying between Trevor’s thighs and started to undo his jeans. Trevor watched, suddenly salivating a little. Michael wasn’t bad on the eyes, never had been, first in that “give-no-fucks-trailer-trash” way, now in his juppied- up gangster way. The sight of him on his knees, pulling his cock out of his flies, stroking the swollen flesh with the same hands Trevor had seen deal out bullets with cold accuracy… it worked for Trevor. So did the look on his face, eyes heavy-lidded with lust, mouth slightly parted, cheeks ruddy with excitement. It reminded Trevor of how he looked after a successful job.

“You always got off on the weirdest things,” Trevor said, lifting his leg to hook his foot around Michael’s thigh, tugging him forwards. With a breathless laugh Michael stumbled closer, wedged between Trevor’s spread thighs.

“You’re one to talk. Wade told me about Mr Raspberry Jam.”

Trevor closed his eyes. “Don’t sully Mr Raspberry Jam, he made a worthy sacrifice.”

“I’m sure,” Michael said dryly. He picked up the gun again, pressing it against the skin behind Trevor’s balls, drawing a hitched groan from him.

“Jesus,” Michael said, voice rough and excited. He slipped the gun lower, Trevor tilting his hips with a grunt. Michael stroked himself with an unsteady hand, breaths coming hard as he nudged the gun between Trevor’s buttocks, pressing it against his asshole. Trevor gave a ragged moan, head tipped back, the cords of his neck standing out. His cock twitched where it lay against his belly, a bead of precome leaving a shiny trail on his skin.

 

 

Michael felt overwhelmed, the familiar feeling of the gun in his hand, reminding him what he was best at, of the power he felt when he fired a weapon and hit the target. And Trevor… Trevor who was always out of control, who had spent the last weeks railing against every word Michael said, who always went the opposite way just to be contrary, but now… Here, under Michael’s gun, tied to the bed, he was complacent, eyes closed, lips parted and thighs spread and so _easy_.

Michael sighed. Nothing with Trevor was ever easy.

He shuffled forwards on his knees, pulling the gun from between Trevor’s legs and placing it on his ribcage, bracing himself on Trevor’s chest as he settled  over Trevor’s thighs, lining their cocks up and taking them both in hand. Trevor gave him a lazy, glazed look before tilting his head back again, mouth twisted in a snarl. 

The gun was hard and unyielding beneath Michael’s palm. He jerked them off quickly, turned on by the sight of his hand curled around both their dicks, the sensation of Trevor’s cock hard and hot against his own.

“Fuck…” Trevor groaned, hips bucking to meet Michael’s strokes. A wounded whine tore its way out of Michael’s chest as he moved his hips in fluid thrusts, his chest tight with arousal. He wanted to see Trevor come, needed to take that bit of him if it was the only thing Trevor would give him anymore.

“Let me loose,” Trevor grunted, yanking his wrists hard enough to rattle the bed. Michael groaned, frustrated, but reached for the key on the floor, letting go of their pricks so he could manoeuvre the cuffs open. Trevor rubbed his chafed wrists, whether in pain or pleasure Michael wasn’t sure. He settled back and started jerking them off again, his rhythm faltering the closer he got to his own orgasm. Trevor put his hands on Michael’s waist, rucking up his white t-shirt to reach soft skin. Trevor’s large hands slid against his skin, the palms rough with calluses. He held Michael firmly, supporting him as he moved his hips against Trevor’s.

“You did gain weight,” Trevor said, trailing one hand down to Michael’s belly and holding it flat against the softness there. Michael huffed, hips stuttering as he squeezed them both gently, a string of come leaking from his slit.

“Yeah,” he panted. “It happens when you sit on your ass having a middle-aged existential crisis.” He rubbed his thumb across the tip of Trevor’s cock. “I can still take you, you crazy asshole.”

Trevor barked out a laugh, dipping his hand down the back of Michael’s jeans, grabbing an ample of his ass and squeezing hard. Michael groaned, back curved in an arc. The gun on Trevor’s chest had slid down, resting on his stomach. The grey metal contrasted with their flushed cocks, and Michael wondered dizzily how far Trevor would’ve let him go. He thought about fucking Trevor with it, about Trevor split open on the unyielding steel, gritting his teeth and straining against the cuffs.

The vision pushed him over the edge. “Jesus, fuck, T,” he moaned, hips jerking as he came over his own hand and Trevor’s belly, his come splattering on Trevor’s skin and the barrel of the gun.

He eased off slowly, lifting his gaze to see Trevor stare at him hungrily. He still had his hand on Michael’s ass, his thumb stroking the skin idly.

“Finish what you started,” Trevor said, voice low and quiet, like a threat. Spent, Michael took him in hand again, using his own come as slick.

“Does Amanda know how needy you are?”

Michael’s hand stuttered and he looked at Trevor uncertainly. “Leave her out of this.”

Trevor laughed, a grating, cruel sound. Suddenly his hand was in Michael’s hair, pulling hard enough to draw a sharp groan from him.

“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tell her? I’m sure she’d just _love_ to hear about the bonding we’ve been doing, huh? Maybe I’ll send her a picture of her dear husband with his hand on another man’s dick.”

“Fuck you,” Michael spat, glaring at Trevor. “I’m done with your fucking threats,” his hissed, grabbing Trevor’s arm and twisting it hard until Trevor let go with a growl. Michael slammed Trevor's wrist into the mattress, pinning it down. He leaned hard on Trevor’s chest , hand curling over his throat.

“You won’t tell her,” he said quietly. “Because at the end of the day you were the one who sought me out. You tell her now, and it’ll be the last we see each other.” He straightened, and Trevor dug his nails into his side, holding him in place. They stared at each other in silence as Michael started jerking Trevor off again, this time at a hard, punishing pace. Trevor broke the stare, turning his head away with a grimace, his body going tense under Michael. He came with a hoarse shout, his cock twitching in Michael’s hold. Michael stroked him through the aftershocks, until Trevor’s hold on him loosened, leaving red half-moons on Michael’s skin.

Michael hissed, letting loose of Trevor's arm and leaning back, rubbing his fingers over the nailmarks.

"You need to learn yourself some goddamn bedside manners," he snapped.

Trevor rolled his body, forcing Michael to get off of him and sit on the edge of the bed. He watched Trevor pull on a pair of boxers. With a weary sigh he tucked his own dick in.

"So what the fuck was that about," Trevor asked, lighting up a cigarette. Michael gestured at him to share, but Trevor smirked. "Noooo, you quit, remember? Bad for you!"

"Fuck you. And this wasn't about anything. I thought you of all people would understand that, you never do practically anything with a purpose, unless it's to eat or shit."

"Or fuck," Trevor pointed out, jabbing towards Michael with his cigarette.

"Or fuck. That's exactly my point. It was a fuck. Didn't go as smoothly as I'd hoped, but there you go." He sighed, getting up and walking to the door.

"Just go to sleep Trevor," he said, feeling suddenly tired. "Whatever meaning I had was probably lost when you turned it into yet another pissing contest over who could hurt the other the most."

He picked up the gun and left Trevor on the bed, smoking his cigarette and looking uncharacteristically contemplative, and crawled between the musty sheets set for him on the sofa. The light was still on in Trevor’s bedroom when Michael finally fell asleep.


End file.
